


The Match

by Starmaker5



Series: Poems [2]
Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29335140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starmaker5/pseuds/Starmaker5
Summary: My second attempt at a poem. Can anyone guess what the matches are supposed to represent?
Series: Poems [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156316





	The Match

A match

They say bury the latch

A growing presence

They say it can cause a campfire

Can’t say I’ve seen it’s essence.

All I’ve seen are wildfires.

Don’t light your match 

They say

Only we can dispatch.

But why does my match grow?

The others glow,

Mine only grows.

I ask why.

Don’t bother me.

They say.

Play, and bury the match.

But the match always finds me.

Grown. More and more,

Each time I find it.

I ask why.

They show a wildfire.

Cutting out the sky.

The forest burns.

Shutting me in.

So I hide it.

But still it grows, 

The others melt like snow

On a cold winter day.

Why am I the only one who has to hide it?

You set a wildfire dailey by the bay.

The water does nothing.

There are as many as three.

Wildfires at each other, jumping.

All are silent, there is no plea.

Can’t keep it from setting.

Pant pant.

I’m sorry.

I failed.

More fires.

They yell.

It’s dire.

My fire swells.

The fires circle mine.

I crossed a line.

They say.

You lit your match.

Shame burns brighter than my dying fire.

I apologize, but say it’s not fair.

They call me a liar.

Another fiery blaze burns the air.

Once more,

I am in the middle.

So I look at my match in the core.

It didn’t shrink, it grew.

Now to keep the match from setting,

I bury it deeper than forgetting.

They say make a campfire.

Wow, 

they tell us but not show.

My match is in my hand. 

It has grown.

But there’s no sparks.

Those come at home.

Full of barks and sharks.

Wildfires under a dome.

Yet even as the match grows.

Netting more and more sparks.

I can’t let it show.

Even in the dark.

I’m running out of ideas.

I’m no diva.

So I ask for help.

Where can I hide it?

Without a yelp, it’s grown again.

But now it’s wet.

I smile.

Why should I fret?

When I am full of bile?

  
  


Every night now,

I dip it in water.

Letting the drops fall like a plow.

It’s never hotter,

And it never grows.

It’s not working.

People are seeing my wet match.

And they are lurking.

So I take it, and detach the water.

I stop pouring on water.

It grows more.

Try as I might,

Bit by bit,

It’s growing.

But there’s are bigger.

That seems to be the trigger.

If my match grows bigger than there’s.

I can finally light it, and let it shrink.

I was wrong.

My match is not bigger.

There’s are strong.

Mine is weak.

So once more I hide it.

But now it’s wet.

What? 

It’s wet on its own.

But it starts shrinking,

And the drops protect me.

From the ever growing blazes.

But why do I care?

It’s not normal.

It’s not fair.

Ha! 

As if they care.

It’s my job to keep the blazes down,

and act as kindling, and not drown.

Not start them.

It’s getting harder.

Hiding the drops.

And caring to hide them.

I slip often, so I’m rather charred.

Biding its time, my match has grown again.

Yet to all of it, I’m numb.

After all, I don’t deserve to even light my match.

Laughter is all I’m here for.

They told me since I’d hatched.

They’re my family, yet to the rim,

I’m nothing but a bad luck whim.

Maybe I should extinguish my flame.

That’s a I thought I’ve had for a while.

Back by years gone by.

But I can't. I've got no one to blame.

But myself, so I’ve got to smile.

We’re in this situation because of me.

They say there are three,

But it’s really two.

Because I’m the bad luck screw.

So I’ll stick it out,

Even as my match grows.

And is covered in water beyond all doubt.


End file.
